


A Delicious Sense of Anticipation

by bees_stories



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Catharsis, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Sherlock, M/M, Sexual Content, sexual healing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 22:48:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5067682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bees_stories/pseuds/bees_stories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Sherlock and John asking "How are you?" is the first step in a complicated physical and emotional journey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Delicious Sense of Anticipation

* * * 

"How are you?"

Sherlock looks up and takes notice of the concern in John's eyes. It's obvious he's not asking about Sherlock's physical well-being, that he can assess for himself. Physically, Sherlock is in the expected state of moderate discomfort that comes from having small calibre bullets graze the flesh of his arm and flank. He is experiencing the dull aches associated with bruises and contusions wrought by the fists of a desperate man fighting for his freedom, and the cuts and scrapes and deeper bruising that is the logical outcome of having an unstable surface give way under his feet, resulting in a moment of free fall before enduring a hazardous tumble down a rocky embankment. 

John is not even referring to the pulled and strained muscles in Sherlock's arms and back – the same sort of injuries he himself is contending with - from being hauled bodily up a cliff face moments before the minor surface erosion had become a major rock slide. The same rock slide that had taken their quarry, Marcel Lamascue, to the bottom and buried him under tonnes of rubble.

No, it is Sherlock's mental landscape that John is concerned with. How is he now that the adrenaline of the chase has worn away? How is he now that he has had an opportunity to process how close he had come to being carried away in the landslide to a horrible and gruesome death? 

_How are you?_ is a question John asks because pre-eminent in his own emotional landscape is a sense of anger over the events of the last few hours. Anger because, despite his assurances that he would wait for the police, Sherlock had proceeded without backup, engaging in a foot pursuit across perilous terrain.

John is angry with himself for not obeying his instincts to come up with some other way to summon help, and remain at Sherlock's side. Although he would claim otherwise, he has imagined the terrible possibility of arriving at the scene of the final confrontation a few seconds too late to fling himself bodily over the cliff face. Worse, he has seen himself grasping for Sherlock's wrist and missing, his fingers closing over empty air. In his mind's eye he has seen Sherlock falling – just as he had once before – and watched, just as helplessly, as he had then.

John needs to be comforted. He needs the solace that comes from being cradled in Sherlock's bruised and battered arms. He needs to gingerly lay his head against Sherlock's chest and reassure himself that the heart beneath the aching ribs still beats strongly. He needs something else as well. He needs to express his anger, not in a cathartic torrent of words, but in a primal display of violent passion that will give vent to his true feelings. 

Tonight, he will sublimate that urge. Tonight, John will be tender. He will gently caress Sherlock's undamaged flesh. He will use careful fingers to soothe sore muscles and massage away minor aches and pains. He will ask nothing for himself, other than the right to share a bed and offer these small comforts. In return, some night soon, after his burned and abraded skin has healed and his bruises and contusions have faded until only their memories remain, Sherlock will invite himself into John's bed. Once there, he will become a supplicant, offering himself up willingly so that John can vent his deeper, darker passions. 

The sex will be aggressive. Athletic. John will use his lips, his tongue, and even his teeth to enervate Sherlock's resistance and excite his senses. He will leave marks of his own to supplant those left by the alpine misadventure. 

Eyes glimmering in the subdued light of the bedchamber, John will look down upon Sherlock's sweat-dampened body. He will brush his fingers lightly over a penis that he has stimulated expertly, causing it to throb maddeningly. Depending on his mood, he may continue the sensual torment until he is certain Sherlock is hanging on the brink of a shattering orgasm. Or not. In these matters John is not always easy to read. What is certain is that John will haul Sherlock's legs over his shoulders, or pull him bodily to the end of the bed, or choose from his repertoire some other position from which he can watch as he dominates Sherlock. He needs them, the reactions. The pleas. The sighs. The tensing and yielding of muscles. Each is necessary to rebalance John's emotional scales.

Despite the earlier preparations, the deft fingering and the enthusiastic tongue-play, John will not be gentle. From the first, his thrusts will be powerful, and they will be quick, allowing Sherlock no time to adjust to having his body plundered. John's hips will piston in and out rapidly as his passion and his anger consumes them both. 

At first Sherlock will watch as well, taking his cues from the set of John's jaw and the tautness of his body. He will take notice of the profanity-laced exclamations of desire that will become more blasphemous as John manhandles Sherlock's frame until he finds exactly the position that gives him the most satisfaction. 

As the pleasure builds. As the protestations of his body from ill-use are silenced by an overwhelming tide of desire, Sherlock will close his eyes. In the darkness, as John thrusts with such profound assurance, as their breathing becomes more and more harsh and ragged, Sherlock's skin will thrum from the blood coursing through his veins. As his palm curls over John's, he will come, the orgasm igniting flashes of brilliant white sparks that will blind him to everything but the desire he has for the man who has wrought such exquisite physical ecstasy from his emotional pain.

Afterwards, carnal passions temporarily satiated, John will allow himself to be held. Once more he will lay his head against Sherlock's chest, this time not seeking reassurances of health, but because he finds, in the aftermath of such vigorous physical exertion, the posture to be soothing. 

They will fall asleep, completely emotionally spent and physically exhausted. The next morning when they wake, John will once more be himself, and if the mood takes them, they will make love with affection and good humour and any breaches their partnership may have sustained will be, for a time, healed. 

Sherlock looks up at John with a tired half smile. Despite the damage to his body, and the associated aches and pains, contemplating the physical and emotional journey on which he and John are about to embark fills him with a rather delicious sense of anticipation. 

"I think I'm ready for bed." Painfully Sherlock rises from his chair. He meets John's eyes, holding their gaze significantly as he asks, "Are you coming?"

end


End file.
